


Welcome to My Little Slice of Hell

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rated T for some suggestive language and implied acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to My Little Slice of Hell

I flick idly through the magazine on the counter in front of me, the thin and glossy cover was slightly frayed from the constant reading. I briefly look up to see Mr Saito returning to pick up his key. I pass it to him, and return to the antics of Angelina Jolie. Saito nods at me, but I don't look up. He is well out of sight when I pull out a cigarette from the carton I keep under the desk. I hear the sizzle before I smell the smoke, and leaning back in my chair I close my eyes and take the occasional puff on the cigarette.

I hastily put out he cigarette at the sound of the glass doors opening, and a woman walked through. She doesn’t look at me, her platinum blonde curls pinned into a ridged formality, much like the rest of her, not a hair out of place, wearing an olive trench coat and holding some sort of designer bag. Most people would think she looks suspicious. Most people aren't up at 2 am manning the front desk at an English hotel.

It's around 8 when I get to clock off for door duty, but I have 24 hour duty, meaning I'm up to maid. I yank off the door uniform, and put on the degrading grey shirt and trousers used as maid uniform. I pass few people on my trek to the eighth floor, most of them business men and women from America, here for the trade show.

Not many thoughts fill my head as I scoop us the garbage bags and empty them.

_I need to get a new OK magazine. I should put in that form for tomorrow off. I should give that moron Jonathan a call and see if he is still a crappy older brother to me. Cross that last one off the list, he has and will always be my crappy older brother._

I yawn and open the door of the next room, apparently missing the Do Not Disturb sign, because Saito and that woman from last night - wait. I don't want to relive it. I run out, leaving a pile of fresh sheets at their door.

Midday arrives and I can finally clock off for real. I manage to wipe everything from my mind as I walk through the rain and go to my apartment, mindlessly studying for my exams. Wind whips at the rickety walls and rain lashes at my window. I probably shouldn't have punched out the glass last summer.

I am Angelica Radista, I am 25 years old. Personal details:

Hair: Brown, cropped short. It has some lighter flecks in it, but that could always bee some of those fishy chemicals my boss sprinkles around the place to protect it from… I don't know, something.

Eyes: Green, no, hazel, no, grey. I'll get back to you.

Body image: I reckon I'm ok. I'm 5 foot something, and I weigh some amount. Why bother checking, it's always going to be wrong! All you need to know, is that I have curves where I should, and feet at the end of my legs (and everything else that isn't about a fifth of my brain cells).

I live by myself in an apartment in the worst part of London. I wont enlighten you, it's better if I keep my life somewhat mysterious. Anyway, I should get back to my life, or the good parts.

My bird died. Good parts over.

I have a pretty weird story, and it all begins with that stupid magazine, the glossy one I was talking about earlier. Because if I had never read that magazine, I would have probably slept, meaning I would not have been tired, meaning I would not have seen Saito and - just stop.

Since then, well, something weird happened… I'll continue.

It was about two weeks after that incident, my life had passed fairly normally, well, as normally as it could, with an increased sightings of a suave guy with short brown hair. He was everywhere, he rented suites at my hotel, and would talk to me for ages, until there was a line up of customers behind him.

He asked me out for drinks once. I refused and pulled a bottle of scotch out from beneath my desk, and offered it to him. We shared the bottle before he left. After that, I decided to clock off. I go home (it's 11pm) and begin to study for a quiz at my college tomorrow. I am studying to be a psych professor.

As I study, I dwell on the things that had happened that day. My ex room mate is pregnant. My ex boyfriend's new girlfriend is pregnant. My ex-best-friend is pregnant. I think there is something in the water. That's why I just drink wine. A knock on my door draws me out of my stupor, as I sit up calmly, my back sore from hunching over my old laptop, and I open the door. I look around and try to see who is out there, when I am knocked out.

So there I am, in my blue singlet and black knickers, lying on the floor of my apartment with blood leeching down my face. Someone smashed a bottle over my head. That someone becomes apparent once I open my eye.

"Bloody bastardy." I spit. The suave guy from the hotel sits in a chair opposite me, fiddling with a small, silver gun.

"Sweetheart, I'm the one with the gun." He said, and turned to the tall gentleman sitting on my kitchen bench, "This thing better be loaded, Arthur."

"Eames," Arthur's sigh is exasperated, "you know what Cobb said, no shooting unless she gets free." He was sipping a coffee and straightening his suite and cocking his gun at the same time.

"You seem rather eager to pull the trigger." Eames leans back, and Arthur smiles patiently,

"No, no, no. I've been to this part of town before. This one person tried to mug me… Twice." He said, and I laugh bitterly,

"That would be Bella. Don't worry, she's pregnant." I say, and Eames roared with laughter. Arthur nods understandingly, but still looks around, and runs a hand through his hair.

"I thought she was meant to be gagged." Said a young woman with curly brown hair, in her hand, she held a store bought coffee, and a set of papers.

"Yeah, but she has a gorgeous mouth and knows almost as much… Hmmm, colourful language… As I do…" Eames says, and nods to the tall, bearded man who enters behind her.

"Wasn't she meant to be unconscious?" He asked, and Eames opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur answered, in a slightly exasperated and bored tone,

"He hit her on the head with a bottle. I think she may have a concussion. And Eames… Put the gun down." He walked over and peered at the top of my head.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?!" I shout, and try to avoid where his hand touches my head, expecting the pain. It is rather more intense than I expected, and the acute pain makes me dizzy. My head is reeling, and I can feel nausea setting in. My head falls to my chest, and I realise I am basically stark naked surrounded by strangers.

"You couldn't have had the decency to clothe me, Arthur." I huff, knowing Eames would have unclothed me, so I didn't bother asking him. A ghost of a smile flashes across Arthur's lips, but he doesn’t comment, just continuing to probe my head, as Eames answers.

"It was a heated argument, and eventually we reached a stalemate. He wouldn't clothe you, I wouldn't unclothe you." He shrugged. I turn my head, and see Arthur has returned to leaning against my kitchen bench, next to him, was the woman, who offered him her coffee, and he gladly accepts.

"Oh, and you're bleeding profusely, I think there was a bit of glass." Said Arthur, before taking another sip from the girl's cup. The news doesn’t surprise me; I was whacked over the head with a bottle. I turn my attention to the small girl with the brown hair.

"You seem remarkably unperturbed." I say, nonchalantly, and she laughs humourlessly, her eyes growing stony.

"I have seen Eames, as a woman in underwear… C'est La Vie." She says, and recoils slightly, while Arthur tries to hide his laughter behind a sip of steaming coffee.

"That's all very well and good - not even going to ask how that works - but what do you want from me." I say, and pause to think about the woman's statement, and shuddered somewhat. This was met by a loud cry of laughter from Eames; I just glared at him.

"Found it." The bearded man walked into the room, hauling a silver briefcase, and I recognised it.

"That's the thing you were carrying into the hotel last week!" My eyes widened, as I looked from Eames to the briefcase. I can hear my breath come out in shallow puffs as I see the array of needles and slightly suspicious bottles enclosed in the seemingly harmless briefcase.

"Love, keep still." Said Eames, which just aggravated me more so. The nails on my right hand dig in to my skin, and I feel the pain but I don't turn to look, because as I struggle to get away from them, as I am tied into the chair, I just begin to swear like a devil.

"Why isn't she gagged?" The woman asked, and Arthur just directed that to Eames.

"Because, Ariadne, darling, she is much better company than Arthur here," he motions to Arthur, and grins devilishly, "and I couldn't help but want to hear her side of the story.

"EAMES YOU -" I begin to repeat some of the nastier words I have learned over the years, and he grabs the gag. My muffled shouts can be heard, but he just concentrate's on tying.

"We have heard quite enough out of you… Where the God Damned Hell is Yusuf?" Eames had finished gagging at me, and winked before turning to the others, looking from one to the next.

"I don't know, but we can't do this without him." Arthur stormed out of the room. Ariadne and Cobb followed him close behind, and Ariadne eyed Eames doubtfully. I sat there, fuming and chocking on fabric.

"Well, darling, seems I have you cornered." He takes a swig from a bottle he pulls out of my cupboard, and I snicker as he shudders and replaces the bottle. Throat Medicine. He looks through my cupboards, finding a bottle of whiskey and a bag of potato crisps I was planning on having for a late dinner. An extremely late dinner. It's around 3 am, but sleeping doesn't seem to be an option right now. He sat in front of me, eating the chips slowly. He studied me, my head lolling onto my chest as I began to fall asleep, the blood loss effecting me severely. I could hear him getting up from where he sat, removing the gag. He soaked the gag in hot water, and washes my head. He then coaxed me to eat a chip, and takes a swig of whiskey. I ate the chip and glared at him.

"I think a thanks is in order, darling." He said, and I bit my lip. I can't thank him… I'll seem weak. I decided just to stay silent.

"Come on, sweet heart, you could have died from blood loss."

"Arthur would have saved me." I chide, and he acts hurt,

"That hurt."

"Sorry, darling." I say my tone mocking, and he narrows his eyes, an amused smirk on his face. He sat beside me, and untied me.

"You are unwittingly trusting, Eames." I said, and relaxed my hands. He smiled at me, and offered the bottle to me. I took a swig, and realised why Eames had let me out. I was dizzy and disoriented and blood began to trickle down my forehead. I slumped forward, and a thin stream of blood oozed down my nose. I could smell the metallic tang as I threw my head back and gulped a swig of alcohol. Eames took the bottle from my hand, an wrapped an arm around me, propping me up.

I leaned against him, and his cologne assailed my nostrils. It smelled like cinnamon. I liked it. I leaned into him, and he held me close.

"Get off her, Eame - Why is she untied?!" Arthur growled, and Eames leapt up, leaving me to slump on his chair. He was about to explain, but I blacked out.

~

When I came to, I was lying back in my chair at work; I must have dozed off. I feel a sinking feeling as I see the door swing open. My stomach lurches as I see someone who I think is rather familiar.

Ok, I'm going to cheat a bit here, and tell you something I wouldn't find out for at least a day. It was Arthur.

"Welcome to the hotel -Welcome." I sigh, sitting down. Arthur gives me a small smile, but I just sink further into my chair.

"Gawd I hate this job." I groan, and massage my temple with my hand. He leans against the desk, and strokes my hair. I swat his hand away, and look at my computer.

"What room?" I asked, and clicked a few keys so it looked like I was doing something. Where have I seen him before? I ask myself, studying his perfect features.

"I don't pay you to sit there and chat!" It was the nasal voice of my boss, her blonde highlights clashed awfully with her greying hair. The tight black dress she wears everywhere while she files her nails leaves little to the imagination. Arthur gives her a quick up and down look, and she smirks at him… He smiles, somewhat exasperatedly, up at her.

"Give me a room number." I manage to say through gritted teeth, bringing my head down against the metal of my desk. I begin to feel as though someone up there has it in for me. Arthur stays silent, sizing up my boss. He turns back to me, and asked me what I wanted from him.

"Pick a room," I repeated, slowly and quietly, trying to keep my temper in check. Arthur turns the screen towards himself, and I try to stop him, but, oh, what's the point? There is nothing there anyway.

"Stop gawkin' at my employee! That's what I'm here for!" How she got to be my boss, I will never know.

Arthur picked a room, and took the key, after asking which one I thought was best. He left. My boss - who's name, by the way, is Peppermint - turned to me.

"Why were you flirtin' with the customer? You know you can only sleep with them on maid duty!" She said, and I was taken aback, so I pondered her stupidity as she filed her nails. She finally stops when she realises I haven't stopped staring at her.

"Wha'?" She asked, her mouth hanging open, and I got the feeling she was drunk.

"Oh, I was just thinking about how I ended up here, and you ended up there… Just seems wrong, somehow." I sigh, and she looks in the mirror, before exiting. I type some meaningless garbage into the computer, just before someone unexpected exits my boss's office.

"Disgusting. You better not have been doing what I think you were doing." For you see it was Eames who exited my boss's office. A roguish grin spread over his features, and he tucked his shirt into his pants.

"What did you think I was doing?" He asked, and sat on my desk.

"Well, whenever a guy exits Pepper's office, she's just slept with them, and I have to hear about 'Ooh, I feel bad about not calling him… Maybe I should… Ooh! We should keep in touch! I mean! What if I get pregnant!? You wouldn't make me sit through that?" I asked, no, pleaded. The grin on his face grew larger. 

"Well she should call if, well, you know!" He shrugged, and I delighted seeing the smile drop from his face at my latest piece of information,

"She's 71, and I had to live through her menopause. How would she get pregnant?" I asked, and put my feet on the desk. He spluttered and wiped his mouth quickly. I eyed him, a smirk reappearing to my features. HE finally gave his head a good shake, kind of like a dog, and sat on my desk.

"I heard… Someone."

"Yeah," I clicked on my keyboard, but he just threw the screen through the glass doors of my lobby, so I continued, rather angrily as I went to get the screen "He got a room, and was eyeing off Peppermint." I began to grumble about how 'Peppermint' was a stupid name, but he played with the collar of my shirt.

"You have maid duty in, what -" He checks his watch, "- Twenty minutes… You going to go up there?"

"You referring to… I KNOW HIM FROM SOMEWHERE!" I leapt out of my chair, and began to pace. Eames tried to convince me that I was going insane.

"Everyone's slightly insane, love." He sat in my chair, resting his feet on my desk. This is where Arthur re-entered. My nails cut into Eames's hand, because I squeezed it so hard, as I told Arthur that, Yes We are open all night, and No I was not on door duty all night through gritted teeth and a forced smile. Arthur's eyes darted to Eames's hand, which was already turning purple in some parts. A slight smirk lit up his features, and I could feel the pulse lessen in Eames's hand as each minute went passed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch you're name earlier." He said and offered his hand. I shook it with my right hand, as my left hand was occupied.

Eames's face had begun to turn purple from concentration.

"Angelica. Call me Angel." I said, my speech becoming more relaxed, but my hand tightening it's grip on Eames's.

His fingers were unnaturally cold.

"I'm Jonathan." Arthur says, using a fake name, "and who is you're companion?"

"Mr. Eames." I said, and Eames waved his other hand, trying to smile, but it just tuned into a cry of pain.

"Is he ok?" I could see that 'Jonathan' didn't care in the slightest,

"You've murdered my hand -" Eames chocks,

"He's fine." My teeth become gritted, as I stamp on Eames's foot. He let's out a hoarse yell, and cries,

"Get the god damned hell out!" At Arthur, who smiles at me.

Eames chose some particularly colourful words to shout after Arthur had disappeared into the elevator. Eames was clutching his hand, red cuts and bruises blooming on his hand. My cheeks were flushed with rage, at the infuriating and beautiful man who had just gone up the elevator. Eames punched the wall with his good hand, which wrangled another strangled cry from him.

"God Damn, Angel!" He shouted, and followed it with a rather impressive line of swear words, which I am pretty sure was A to Z.

"What did my hand ever do to you?!" He asked, his eyes wide, and demanding. He tries to flex his fingers, but end's up moaning in agony.

"I'm going. To maid duty. Stay out of, well, I would say trouble, but for now I'm just going to say, my boss's office." I shout over my shoulder. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, he winces (it was his right hand) but I can still see the look of greed in his eye.

"Do you wear the skimpy outfits and carry a feather duster that can double as a -" I grab his hand a squeeze it, he makes slight noises of pain and I whisper menacingly in his ear,

"If your say one more word, I will slap you. With my feather duster, while I wear a pair of grey pants and a grey t-shirt. You know what that is called? My uniform. And the feather duster is just a feather duster! Try switching off the adult channel next time." I let go of his hand and smile charmingly at him. He looks up at me, and… Moron still looks greedy. God I hope that look is greedy, because I know another emotion that has a similar expression.

_Just climb the stairs._

I pull the rough material of my uniform over my head, and sat in the cupboard with my maid stuff. I ran my fingers over the feather duster, and threw it across the tiny, dark expanse. I couldn't help the small smile that spread across my lips, or the childish giggle at Eames being Eames. And I couldn't help blushing at the sight of Arthur's brown eyes peering down at me from the opening in the door.

"Has Mr Eames's hand recovered?" He asked, and I was glad it was not so dark, as to cover the evil grin that spread wickedly across both our faces. I felt a tug, not a physical one, but one in my gut, you know, the liver, or the stomach, whatever is right in the middle. I stood up from where I was slumped in the corner, as Arthur bent down to pick up the feather duster.

"I wouldn't touch that." I warned him, not wanting to burst into a fit of giggles.

"It's just a feather duster." His eyebrows quirked upwards, and I smiled, if not a little sadly,

"After I killed Eames's hand, he asked if I was going to be… For lack of a better word… Adult maid."

"I don't get it, you have to be over the age of 16 to be employed, even as a - Oh!" Realisation dawned on him, and I was fighting hard to keep a straight face.

"Adult." I emphasized, and he ducked his head, I swear a trace of a blush lit his cheeks.

I couldn't help it, my mouth curved up and I burst into a fit of giggles. I could see Arthur tossing up whether or not to stay, and he seemed to decide it was safe.

"Why was he so interested?" Arthur asked, his cool demeanour recovered as he slumped across from me, leaning against the door. I flicked one of those little power-point-lamp-thingies on, which gave us some brief light.

"Do I have to say?" I whine, not wanting to mention that Eames suggested I sleep with him during my next shift.

"Would it help if I said I would file a lawsuit against him for sexual harassment?" He asked, and I looked at him like he had sprouted an extra head. Here in, well, my town, the police have little to no impact

"Not really." I say, and take a shaky breath. I begin to recount the whole encounter, involving him, Peppermint and Eames. The best I got was a sly smile and a knowing bark of laughter. He asked me about work, when there was a knock on the door. Arthur stood to the side as I opened it.

"Darling, you seen Jonathan?" Asked Eames, peering at me in my grey uniform. I blinked slowly, a bored expression on my face. "I'll take that as a no." He said slowly.

"Ooh! Wait!" I say, and bend down, picking the feather duster off the floor for him. "Real enough?" I ask, and he awards me with a smirk, and a nod. I tell him that he can keep it before he walks off.

"How did you just flat out lie to Eames?" Arthur asked, and my face grew serious,

"What do you mean, 'how did I?' I happen to be a very convincing liar. AS long as I don't say anything."

"Ok, so lie to me." Arthur folds his arms across his chest, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks.

"I'm not that good. I can tell the truth but make it sound like a lie, that is how I get away with sleeping through work so often." I clap my hands over my mouth, and grab the plastic bag beside me. "I'm not lazy! I just gotta go. Now." I stand and exit quickly.

God I am an idiot. A huge idiot! Why did I have to sound so lazy? I have a tendency to blab. Or just say stuff without thinking. I heard a set of footsteps behind me, and I saw Eames's angry figure closing in on me.

"Where the hell is Jonathan?!" He asked, and I shrugged. He wouldn't relent, so he went on my rounds with me. I walked up to the eighth floor.

"So, what brings you to my little slice of hell… Apart from the obvious. You still have some lipstick." I say, wiping at the corner of his mouth, before barging into the first room. It was an American couple, they were sitting up having breakfast. I seemed to recognise them, but didn’t dwell on it. If I did, it would just be another closet conversation.

"Weren't you on the door?" Cobb asks, his mouth full of food. I supress a giggle, before turning serious again.

"Can you stop spreading bread crumbs! That means I actually have to vacuum." I moan, and exit, before re-entering with the vacuum. Eames laughs quietly behind me, and I turn to the couple.

"You'll have to excuse my brother, he's…" I fished for the words, and began to whisper, "Not exactly right in the head."

Eames stopped laughing and looked rather indignantly at me. I just shrugged at him. The couple nodded sympathetically, and leaves the room.

"I resent that." Said Eames, and I smile charmingly at him. He just smiles back, slightly uneasily, and rubs his hand tentatively. I pull the vacuum into the room, and it roars to life, spluttering around as it sucks up the pieces of lint. Eames leans against the door, and watches me.

"You're putting me off." I say to him, as he smiles like a cat who got the cream.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He says, but persists at watching me.

"Why did you lie to me?" He asked, and I tried not to look too perturbed.

"What do you mean?" I asked, and he raised his eyebrow.

"Darling, I know you. You were lying."

"You haven't the foggiest about me." I say airily, and shut off the vacuum, "YOU CAN COME BACK IN!" I yell to the couple. The man enters, and holds out his hand.

"Tom Green, Marketing." He says, and his partner supresses a smile, her wavy brown hair grabs my attention, but again, don't dwell.

"Janice Smith, my business associate." He says, and we shake hands. Eames seems to have disappeared.

"What happened to your friend?" Janice asked, her eyes betraying her amusement.

"Nope, no friend of mine. A guy I met downstairs. I think he is stalking me…" I ponder this for a moment, but brush it off. I go to leave, and the man, Tom was it? Anyway, he catches my arm and asks,

"Where are you going now? We are kind of new to this part of England, and we would like to have a sort of… Guide?"

"Ok, I'm just doing my rounds, but so held me god, if you make me go into that room," I gestured to the room across the hall where I saw Saito and - TELL THE STORY! "I will make you clean the entire building yourself." I seethe with unnecessary anger.

"What's in that room?" He asked, his eyes large, and I laugh malevolently.

"One of the customers, I wont say who *cough* Saito *cough* was in there with a woman - no. I will not finish. But I should probably go to the police or someone… I saw her on TV… She's married." I breath deeply, and the man turns to Janice, who I now realise I have seen before. She spent one night here a few weeks back. And her name wasn't Janice. I disregard my previous statement, and turn my attention to her.

"What did you say your name was?" I asked, my dark hair falling in my eyes, but I didn't miss the worried look she passes with Tom. But if she was lying, so was he.

"J-Janice." Her voice wavered.

"No, no it's not… It starts with… OOH! WHAT DOES IT START WITH!" I say, and they take a step back. The man pushes a button, and Eames and Jonathan race up.

"Eames… Who are they?" I ask, and each pair of eyes that wasn't mine exchanged a look.

"Darling, they are who they say they are."

"You are Eames, I know that and you are - ARGH!" I felt a shooting pain through my skull as I tried to figure it out. They seemed to have formed a circle around me.

"J-J-ARRGH!" I screamed, and I had an epiphany, "Arthur." I said, and slumped to the ground.

"If you're Arthur, and you are Eames, that means you are… Starts with A… A… A… Ar… ARIADNE!" I cry, and a gun appears in Arthur's hands, but it wasn't pointed at me.

I hear the shot and see Ariadne slump to the ground, but I am too paralysed to move. We stand there in a stunned silence. Suddenly, Arthur slumps to the ground. Dead. Wind whistles through the gap in my lips as I draw a sharp intake of breath.

"See you, sweetheart." Says Eames, as he slumps to the ground also. It's just me and the guy who says his name is Tod. That really doesn't last long. He falls to the ground, and the building begin to shake, but I sit there crying, slumped around the vacuum. A smattering of duck chalks from the ceiling, and I see a lump of plaster fall onto the table. I scream my lungs out, my eyes red.

I trace the pattern of the carpet around my tears as a lump of plaster falls onto my head.

Goodbye sweet world.

~

I wake up screaming, and my eyes burn. I whip my head up, and look around, but I'm not dead, I'm sitting at my computer as it hums softly, my cheeks pressed against the keys. There is no-one here but me. I search my apartment, looking in every nook and cranny, and I couldn't stem the flow of tears pour from my eyes.

No-one there.

My mind wanders as I sit back at my desk, snivelling feebly. It was a dream, a stupid, lucid, dream. But it had been soooo real.

"Ow." I say softly, rubbing my wrist, and there, although I could hardly see it, was a tiny patch of pink skin, the size of a needle. I rub it and think back.

Did that all just happen? Yes.

Will I probably die? Yes.

Will I be missed? Probably not.

I pour myself a snifter of wine and begin to sip it, thinking over the day.

~

As I empty the second bottle, I am well and truly drunk. There is no situation I can't drink myself into forgetting. This is just going to e one of my mirages that I swear happened, but then admit to drinking two bottles of wine.

A knock on the door makes me sit up, somewhat.

"Yesh?" I ask, and Eames lets himself in.

"Joo forgetya brief-silver… whatchamacallit?" I ask, and he smiles sadly.

"I knew this would happen. Give me the bottle. Y-you won't be needing it." Something catches in his throat as he watches me, swaying precariously from side to side, clutching a bottle of wine as I try to drink away my trauma.

"But joo died!" I say, and he smiles again.

"Just a dream sweetheart." He said, and I latch onto him.

"Never, ever, ever die again!" I say, holding his waist.

"Ish Afur and Ari-something-or-other okay?" I ask, and he nods.

"Sweetheart… Please come with me…" He said, and took my hand. I stood up, and wobbled around.

"If we goin' out, I want paaaants." I say, leaning against him. He took me to my closet, and put a pare of grey slacks on me. Usually I can hold liquor very well, but today, things were not usual, and I ended up being sick in my closet. Eames just props me up, and takes me to a his car, parked downstairs. There in the car, sits Saito. He is holding a gun.

"Hello, Miss Radista." He says calmly, and I try to look dignified as I am hauled into the car.

"Mr Man-I-Saw-The-Other-Week-Now-Has-A-Scary-Gun." Say, completely forgetting his name. He just smiles malevolently.

"Eames, where we goin'?" I ask, stretching out onto the back seat. HE doesn't answer, so I just close my eyes, and fall asleep.

~

"I have a god-awful hangover." Are the first words out of my mouth as I wake up. Eames looks over at me from where he is driving, and frowns.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I haven't a clue where the nearest iced water vendor is."

"Very funny. Pipe down." I say, sitting up, closing my eyes and massaging my temple. Saito was still there, and he leaned over to me, his gun out, and loaded, from what I could tell.

"You must pipe down." He said, and I did. I hate guns. My mouth goes dry as I look out of the tinted windows, we were driving throug a barren waste land,

"I thought we were in… You know… England!" I say, but Eames does not turn around.

"You got some wine back here?" I asked, my voice cracking. Saito shakes his head and smiles.

"Medical Alcohol Wipes I could suck on?" I ask. It's a long shot, and Saito shakes his head. Damn. Anyway, I try to lie down again, but Saito points his gun at me, and I swallow whatever I was going to say. Just keep calm.

"Where are we going?" I rasp, my voice crackling as I become more nervous.

"Away." Says Saito, and he points Eames to the side of the road. I watch the cloud of dust settle as we pull to a stop, and Saito gets out of the car.

"Are you really that evil?" I ask him and he nods,

"No-one except the people who dreamed with you… Will ever know." Ok, so that is when he shot me in the stomach. I can see Eames watch, it's horrifying, but he can't tear himself away. The blood oozes from the wound in my stomach, and I reach for him, but he just turns his head.

Saito puts a bullet in my head, and with a final resounding *crack* I am gone.

Usually, you think this would be the end of the story. Well, it's not.

~

I am walking through a field, it's green, and warm. The sun shines unerringly bright in my eyes. My lips are chapped as a frigidly cold wind blows. I walk further into the suns ray, but then feel a tug at my legs. A set of hands in red gloves pulls at my legs. Those hands are attached to a deformed man with wild orange amber eyes. His grasp is strong and I can't break free. He pulls a bottle of what I can see is champagne, and lures me to a hovel. The man is pulling both my legs, and I try to drink the champagne, but it vanishes before it can touch my lips. I throw the bottle at the man, who seems remarkably unperturbed. He catches the bottle, and hits me over the head with it.

I'm kind of foggy on the details from there, all I know is, I ended up in a freezing place. You would think hell is a warm place, you know, with fire and lava and stuff, but it is absolutely freezing. And it smells like burning hair, but you get none of the warmth.

Anyway, since then I have been sitting on the same metal chair writing, as my punishment for not telling someone about Saito. So I tell the world my story. I don't know if it is like telepathy or something, but someone writes my story.

Of course, I am not allowed to type my real name… I'll get punished severley for that, but that is a true story, my story. Angelica Radista.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so when it says
> 
> 'For you see it was Eames who exited my boss's office. A roguish grin spread over his features, and he tucked his shirt into his pants.' 
> 
> He was actually forging Pepper. So implied acts, but in reality, nothing happened.


End file.
